


Curse

by MadDoctorArtist



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Drama, Eventual Romance, F/F, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-10-09 18:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10418313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadDoctorArtist/pseuds/MadDoctorArtist
Summary: The battles have been fought, the end of the Blight has come...but Leliana will not accept the final cost. A tale of a bard finding herself again, as she is forced to move on with the rest of Thedas. Part of the War of the Old Ones universe.





	1. Loss (present)

**Author's Note:**

> Just practicing a few new tricks. Essentially it's Leliana's feelings after the Battle of Denerim.

_There is so much smoke, the stench of fire and blood choking every pore. My arms are aching, weary from the constant draw of my bow. Circle mages and the royal archers stand beside me, overlooking the carnage below. Fort Drakon is but an ocean of corpses and steel, and still the Archdemon swims above it, defiant to the last. But its strength is failing, its attacks faltering. We are winning._

_My eyes scan the tower, and finally I see her, the blue of her Warden uniform shining out against the burning sunset. She stands with Sten and Alistair, her face bloody, but her gaze is iron. It renews my resolve, and I draw an arrow once more. Then her voice breaks through, clear and resonant:_

_“Mages, archers, attack from above with everything you’ve got!”_

_This will be the final assault._

_My arrow flies true, striking a darkspawn, and it becomes an automatic gesture. Three, four, seven, ten; they drop like flies. The Archdemon screams, the Dalish warriors swarming. It has no defenders left._

_Finally, Elissa breaks into a charge, her sword in both hands. Her speed is almost inhuman, and then she leaps. A cry escapes her, and the blade plunges deep between the Archdemon’s eyes._

_The effect is instant. The beast rears, jerking its head as blackened blood pours from every wound. Elissa holds, barely, and then she is thrown aside. My breath catches as she hits the ground, twisting over her leg and rolling over and over, until the battlements stop her dead. She drops to her front, and coughs out a mouthful of blood. For a long moment she is still, and my heart freezes._

_Then she raises her head, and my smile will not be contained._

_She has done it!_

_The Archdemon groans, at last defeated. The light in its eyes fades, and it throws out its wings, smacking the ground with the force of a rumbling giant. It collapses, and the fortress trembles, unable to withstand the shockwave. Cracks start to spread across the floor, the stone buckling._

_Right towards…_

_“ELISSA!”_

_I throw my bow, now useless, and tear down the tower steps. My feet dance across the rippling stone, racing against the ever-widening fissure. Elissa’s eyes are filled with terror. She tries to escape, but she cannot move her leg. My lungs are screaming, my heart howling. I have to reach her, I have to, I have to!_

_The ground begins to fall away, and Elissa cries out. She snatches a splintered rafter, suspended hundreds of feet above nothingness. Now I can see the beautiful hazel in her eyes, and I stretch out my hand. She reaches to me as well. Almost, I am almost…_

_“Leliana, watch out!”_

_Alistair’s cry. Arms circle my waist, and I am brought to my knees._

_“NO!” The scream is torn from my lips, just as the battlement above collapses. The stones crash past, straight for Elissa and where I would have been as well. For an instant our eyes meet, mine misted with tears._

_Then it is over, and Elissa’s shriek is all that rings in my ears._

* * *

 

“ _Elissa_!”

Her name ripples through me, and I sit bolt upright, drenched in sweat. Harsh rasps crackle against my chest, and the shaking will not cease. Cold and darkness swirl as one, smothering, choking. I want it to take it all away. But the vision still haunts, that gaze of pure hazel etched forever in my mind, and I bury my face in my hands.

_She’s gone, she’s gone…_

_And it’s all my fault!_

My chest turns tight, and suddenly the air will not reach. It is all daggers inside, a vicious whirlwind that rips my entire being. Every wound widens, blood pouring endlessly, drowning me in a tide that cannot be stemmed.

“Leliana?”

A soft voice draws closer, and a hand comes to my shoulder. I flinch, unable to stand such gentleness, such warmth. It is not the touch I want; the one I will never feel again. All the hope and promise that carried me has been dashed, burned away as if it had never been, and I cannot stand it. Her beautiful voice, her rare but radiant smile, that scent of seawater and leather and earth that brought my heart to a standstill…

“Leliana, you have to breathe out first,” Wynne said calmly, taking my hand. Her hold breaks the hurricane, and I surface, a single moment returned. Her fingers stroke my back, and loathe as I am to follow her instruction, I am compelled to. The breath spills from my chest, too full, too painful, and then I can inhale again.

Slowly, I am able to breathe once more. But the tightness remains, my heartbeats an agony against my ribs. It will never leave me.

Wynne remains silent, her eyes telling more than words. They reflect pain as well, yet are only a scratch on the surface to what boils within me. None of them know this storm of fury and sorrow; a storm that cannot be contained, bringing all it touches crumbling into dust.

_My heart will never be whole again._

I curl my knees to my chest, pressing my fist to my breastbone. Anything to make it stop hurting. The ring necklace burns upon my skin; the only reminder I have left. I both want to rip it away and cradle it close.

_Why…did she know, then?_

Bile sours my mouth, black and bitter, and I wretch, my stomach knotted. My hair clings to my scalp, clammy and soaked, and now my tears begin again. Spilling from a well that will never empty.

Wynne touches my cheek. “I am sorry.”

Her words are meant to soothe, but instead they provoke lightning. I cast off her hand, my lip curling.

“Leave me,” I snarl. I do not need this. I do not _want_ this. My heart’s only desire has been taken away forever.

I have nothing left.

“You should not push us away,” Wynne said. “We are all grieving for her, and it is not right you should carry your burden alone. Talk to us…”

“What good will words do?!” I snap, my voice hoarse. That which was my currency, the riches upon my art was made…now it was all worthless. “Elissa is _gone_! I failed her, and nothing is ever going to bring her back!”

“Leliana…” Wynne offers her hand again, but I shrink back. I cannot, I will not…

_Why have you done this me?!_

I throw aside my blanket and rise, the stone tiles like ice to my bare feet. Ever that cannot freeze the crippling blaze, the brand through my chest that will forever burn. It gouges at the emptiness within, the part of my soul that she took with her. The piece of me I once vowed to never give away again.

_I was a fool…_

Wynne does not follow as I leave the room. I do not care. My vision is blurry, and I hold my forehead. It is all too dark, too hot. I have to escape.

The Arl’s estate is a maze, but I struggle through, swallowing, my throat like sand. The door to the upper guest room appears, and my trembling worsens. I turn away, angry droplets trickling down my cheeks. She had escaped the clutches of death then, and found the courage to open her heart at last. Even now I can taste her lips against mine, the warmth of her scarred body in my arms, her whispered confession in my ear.

_And all of it has turned to ash._

I force myself to keep walking, seeking the cold night breeze. It comes in the form of an open balcony, and I leave the confining walls. The air is a blade of ice, and I welcome it, though it does not reach deep enough. My breath rises, drifting towards the stretch of stars overhead. A familiar constellation catches me, and the fires reignite all over again. Alindra and her lover—a story she was so fond of hearing. A story I will now never repeat.

Heaves strangle me, and I glare at the heavens. So perfect, so immeasurable…so infuriating.

“ _Why did you take her_?!”

My scream echoes, unheard, ignored. It takes the rumbling in my heart with it, and my knees smack into cold stone. My fingers claw at the ground, numb and raw.

“Why did you take her?” I sob. The tears sting like acid in my eyes, and my head bows. Dear Maker, I gave everything to you. When I was lost, crushed by the weight of the world, you showed me that hope could still bloom in darkness. You revealed a rose untamed by shadows, a rose that should not have been, yet proved to be the most beautiful of all.

_And now you have even stolen that from me._

I crumple, burrowing my head in my knees. The chill kisses my shoulders, like fangs raking my skin. It cannot match what churns inside. She gave up so much, she had carved and fought and kicked and screamed her way to victory. And at the final moment, everything had been snatched away. The promise of the future shattered, like the fragments of my heart. Fragments that had taken so long to bring together again.

_Because of me, you will never see the light again, my love._

The knives dig deeper. I am nothing but a harbinger of pain. All the lives I took—no, _revelled_ in taking—the people I betrayed, the lies I spun, the suffering I wrought. Of course the Maker would not overlook these. I could repent all I wanted, but regret would not bring back the dead. If they could not be allowed happiness, then why should I?

_But you did not have to forsake her._

_You could have taken me…_

_She didn’t deserve to die!_

The darkness presses close, iron chains dragging me into its depths. I cannot fight it. I do not want to fight. I just want release. To hear her voice one more time, to feel her smile.

_I could not even say goodbye._

My cheeks scarred with tears, my eyes fall shut, and I let the shadows take me.


	2. Approval (past)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I decided to continue this, the ideas wouldn’t leave me alone. It’s more of Leliana’s point of view during the ‘War of the Old Ones’ timeline, starting from the end of the Battle of Denerim onwards (until the end of Catastrophe). It will flit between past and present, and will just be snapshots of moments, rather than a full chronological story.
> 
> Conquest is still on my radar, but I’ve been poorly the last two weeks which has put quite a dent in my writing, so I am slowly trying to get back to it. Hopefully this will help!

 

It is a strange thing, to be in a tavern as I am now. For so many years such a place was my favourite playground, a haunt for gossip unearthed through ale-loosened tongues or other purchased pleasantries. How comfortably I would breeze from table to table, a flicker of my eyelids, a swish of my hips, a bite of my lip all I needed to broker my bargains. Of course, some things needed…further persuasion, but I was beyond shame, taught too well, and nothing was out of my reach. It was all part of the Game, and I revelled in my mastery of it. Until that day the mirror of pain was held against me, revealing a truth it has taken quite some time to accept.

Even so, much as it reminds me of the life I have tried to forget, I cannot resist its lure. The smell of hops and spilled drinks, of stale sweat and crowded bodies, the strumming of a lyre, the hum of a flute, the swirl of heated argument; it is familiar, and brings comfort.

At least, it used to, but something has been troubling me, and even the bustling throngs cannot quiet the shadows. Whispered panic has swept through the people, and it has seeped into me, as well. Lothering has been my solace for almost two years, yet I have started to wonder how much longer it will remain so. It was not long ago the King of Ferelden and the fabled Grey Wardens passed through, marching towards the threat spreading unchecked in the south. I did not think much of it, but as the days have passed, despair and darkness have encroached further, and I cannot deny the chill it leaves in its wake.

Last night, it finally culminated in a dream. A vast and terrible blackness, deeper than should ever be, spreading at an impossible rate. Untamed and uncontrolled, it choked all life and light, devouring everything, myself included. I awoke in a cold sweat, pulse thundering like the savage storm that first brought me here. Like the other nightmares that used to haunt, it stole my breath and my resolve, and so I had hoped an early walk would ease my thoughts.

That was when I saw them; three priests gathered in the garden, pointing and shaking their heads at what could only be a miracle. The shrub that had been dead since before I arrived now boasted a single, radiant rose, and it baffled them. It baffled me, too. Such a thing should not have been—even the season was not right—but there it was, brilliant red petals fluttering in the breeze, freshly bloomed. Defiant against all odds.

The sight was a balm to my shaken heart. It rekindled the fire within me, reminding that I too, had overcome the impossible to be free. To be here, in this moment, under the Maker’s gentle guidance. To have blossomed anew, and shed away that which I had been. But it seemed this was not enough. And this dream, this flower, held the truth I did not know I sought. I had survived the shadows of my past, and it was up to me to continue the fight, to atone for what I had done. I was not the only one touched by darkness, but unlike so many, I understood how to challenge it.

I needed to help stop the Blight…

The tavern door creaks, and I look up from the hearthside. A group of unfamiliar faces have entered, dressed in long cloaks. Yet a glance tells me they are not mere refugees. One carries a staff of yew, her dark hair tied high, her lips sour. An apostate. The man beside her lowers his hood, revealing a boyish face recently tempered by lines of grief. The last—their leader, I presume—keeps her hood raised. A dagger and longsword are strung across her back, and she walks with purpose, a fearless stride I have not seen in quite some time. I peer closer, intrigued. The firelight dances off her face, and my breath catches. I have never seen such hazel eyes.

Alas, I am not the only one who notes their presence. At once two soldiers rise, their eyes wild.

“You there, stop.” The order is sharp, but cannot mask the tiniest of tremors. “Well, isn’t this a blessing. Imagine that you Wardens would be fool enough to walk in here!”

His address causes the young man to pause, and he glances anxiously to his comrade.

“Damn it, Loghain’s men,” he mutters. “This can’t be good.”

The apostate beside him rolls her eyes, and mumbles something I cannot catch. The woman, however, says nothing. A hardness takes over her, like fresh-wrought steel. The vein on the soldier’s temple bulges, and his fingers clench, itching to draw his blade. The vision of the rose returns, and I stand. I cannot simply watch.

“Now, now, gentleman, there is no need for trouble.” My voice is calm, and I step between them and the newcomers. “I am sure they are but more weary souls seeking shelter from the troubles facing us all.”

The soldier spits.

“Stay out of this, sister,” he growls. “You will not harbour these traitors, not after they abandoned the King and left him to his death!”

“That wasn’t us!” the young man barks, unable to hold restraint. “Loghain turned his back on King Cailan, and you…”

“I was _there_!” the soldier shouts back. “I saw with my own eyes the trap the Wardens laid!” He can contain himself no longer, and his sword tastes the light. “You don’t deserve to…”

The next moment happens so quickly, I am unsure if I am dreaming. In her silence, the woman has made her move. The soldier gasps, his sword smacked clean from his hand, and then he screams, his feet swept from under him. A sickening crunch I have heard often enough echoes, and he lands face-first onto the floor, his right arm twisted, broken. Not dead, but no doubt soon wishing he would be.

The other soldier pales. The woman turns to him, her hood flopping free. She has long, dark brown hair, tied up in a pony-tail, and a smooth, set jaw. The face of a noble woman, but she is no spoiled lady of leisure. Still she does not breathe a word, her brows narrowing.

“S-Stay back!” A clumsy hand raises a shaking sword. “Loghain…he told us, if any Warden survived…”

“Then what?” The young man steps forward, his own blade poised. The soldier drops his weapon, cowering.

“A-Alright, I surrender, don’t hurt me!” he whimpers.

“How pathetic,” the apostate murmurs.

The young man scoffs.

“What do we think, Elissa?” he asks. “He’s only going to run to Loghain and tell him we’re alive. We should deal with him while we can.”

The woman called Elissa nods slightly, and the young man’s eyes gleam. His sword-arm tenses, and the soldier throws his arms around his head.

“Wait, I think that is quite enough.” I take my stand, bringing my concealed dagger to my palm. “Surely there is no need for further bloodshed?”

“They started it!” the young man retorts.

“But he is asking for mercy,” I answer. “I am sure he has learnt his lesson. Is that not enough to spare his life?”

“Y-Yes, let me go!” the soldier pleads. His comrade remains on the floor, motionless but for his breathing. The point has been made clear enough.

Elissa stares, and it as if the Frostbacks themselves are behind her eyes. I am thankful I am not on the receiving end.

“Fine.” Her voice emerges at last, completing the picture. It is soft-spoken, controlled, and as icy as her gaze. The novelty of it stirs me further. “Run back to Loghain, and tell him we know the truth. He will pay for what he’s done.”

“I-I’ll tell him, right now!” The soldier stumbles out of the tavern, not even stopping to reclaim his sword. Elissa does not watch his shameful escape. Instead her eyes fall upon me, no longer cut with ice, but filled with curiosity.

“Forgive me,” I state, replacing my dagger. “But I could not just stand by and let this transpire. There has been enough blood spilled already, on all sides.”

Elissa does not reply, and continues to stare. I lick my lips. Does she expect a more palatable response?

“Allow me to introduce myself.” I decide to go for the most obvious route. “My name is Leliana, and I am a lay sister of the Chantry here.”

Elissa nods, though my words barely soften her.

“I…couldn’t help but overhear that they called you Grey Wardens.” I find myself unable to hold my quiet, as new understanding unfolds. This meeting is no chance encounter, I am sure of it. “You do know that Loghain and his men accuse you of murdering the King of Ferelden?”

“We do, and it’s a damned lie!” the young man hisses. “Loghain’s the one who left us to die, that back-stabbing, two-faced…”

“Alistair, enough.” Elissa raises her hand. Still she does not tear her eyes from me. I cannot tell if it is from inquisitiveness, or something else. “It sounds like you aren’t in agreement with that rumour, sister?”

I finger the collar of my robes. I wonder if she has caught on to my intent.

“No, I am not,” I answer. “There are always two sides to every story, and it seemed too convenient that only one could speak their part fully.” I draw myself taller. “As such, I believe the Wardens were betrayed, and you will need all the help you can get to set things right. So…” I swallow back the last of my hesitation. “…I would like to…”

The soldier on the floor groans, interrupting.

“Traitors…” The utterance escapes him, and his left hand gropes for his boot. My eyes widen, and my dagger returns. Despite his stupor, he manages to free the poisoned knife, but that is as far as I let him go. My blade cuts into his throat, and he collapses, dropping the tainted steel. I sigh, whispering a prayer for the departed. Such a waste.

“Not bad reflexes for a Chantry sister,” Alistair comments, folding his arms. “Where did you learn that?”

“Not all of us were born in a Chantry,” I respond. It is a question I have learned to deflect well. “Some of us had other lives before.”

“You have my thanks,” Elissa says, opting to ignore Alistair’s remark. “I can only apologise for having caught you up in this.”

“It was no trouble,” I answer. “In fact, I was going to ask if I could do more.” I clear my throat, which has suddenly become dry. “The Blight threatens everyone, and I have seen what will come to pass if it is not stopped. Thus, I would be honoured if I could accompany you and help bring about its end.”

Elissa blinks, caught off guard. For a moment the coldness melts, and her hazel eyes betray the truth. It is a duel of hope and pain; a battle I know too well. I wonder what has caused this conflict within her.

Yet before either cries victory, the frost returns.

“A kind offer, Leliana,” Elissa begins, “but an unnecessary one. You would do better helping those who remain in Lothering to escape. We can’t stop what is coming here, and there is not much time left.”

The tavern seems to fall still, and I raise a hand to my chest. Of all possible outcomes, this was not one I considered. Especially when I had just proven myself.

“You would turn down help when it is freely offered?” My bitterness overcomes me, and the words spill before I can stem them.

Elissa scowls.

“You don’t need to be involved, and I never asked.” Her voice is a shard of ice, and it is all I can do to bite back a shiver. “Trouble yourself with other affairs, sister.”

She gestures to her companions, and they leave. I stare after them, stunned. This was not…I did not…

The air becomes stifling, hot, and soon I walk out of the tavern as well. I remain in the shelter of its walls, holding my arms around myself. This makes no sense. If they are the only surviving Grey Wardens, what hope do they have against the armies of darkspawn? Perhaps I am just one person, but it is one more than nothing. And I know this is the path I must follow. Darkness has always followed me, in some shape or another, and I am not afraid to face it again. Not when it could spare another the same heartache. And not when so many lives could be saved as well.

There had to be a way to convince Elissa…

And I would find it.

* * *

 

It is alarmingly easy to slip into old routines, lurking amidst the shadows to follow them. A mabari hound is now also in their company, and it keeps close to Elissa. It will be wary for unfamiliar scents, but I am safe enough, given what surrounds us. Such an unusual band they make, but I know better than to judge on appearances. Already Elissa has proven more than she seems, and I most certainly have my work cut out for me.

Drifting soundlessly from corner to corner, I am almost frightened how my body responds. Every muscle is thriving, the thrill of the hunt coursing through my veins, as it has not done for a long while. Such eagerness awakens many memories, and I take a breath to steady myself. That life is no longer mine, and has no place bothering me here.

Still, I am grateful my skills have not waned. It further affirms my conviction. Even the Maker sees I have so much to offer. And I would make Elissa see that, as well.

At last I come within earshot, and their conversation echoes clear.

“The people are really desperate.” Alistair shakes his head as they cross towards the windmill. “It’s so sad.”

“T’is pitiable, but not much we can do about it,” the apostate answers. “T’would appear those who had the means to leave already have, and those who remain have only their own stubbornness or ill-fortune to blame.”

“That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t care, Morrigan,” Alistair grumbles.

“Perhaps, but such sentiment changes nothing,” Morrigan states. “Your focus need be broader. T’is better to look to what can be done, rather than what cannot.”

“Trust a witch to be so cold,” Alistair huffs. “Come on Elissa, surely you can’t agree with her?”

Elissa sighs.

“I feel bad enough for the villagers, but we have to concentrate on what’s important,” she says at last. “On our own, we can’t do much more for Lothering, but we can make sure no other village has to suffer the same fate.”

Alistair seems content with her answer, and he nods. I, too, feel a surge of warmth for this woman. She has the mind of a leader—what Ferelden dearly needs—and I can only be grateful she did not perish with her fellow Wardens.

They make for the herbalist, and it brings them to the main field. There Elissa stops dead, her gaze falling to the glistening steel bars. I remain close to the aqueduct, pulling my hair from my eyes. I did not think this would escape her notice. It will be interesting to see what she thinks.

“They’re holding a prisoner?” Alistair scratches his chin. “At a time like this?”

Elissa frowns slightly, and approaches the cage. The qunari within meets her gaze, and it is like a glacier greeting a snowstorm.

“Leave me,” the qunari states gruffly. “I will not be your amusement as I have been to the other humans.”

“It was not my intent to treat you as such,” Elissa answers. “I am simply amazed someone would imprison you when this place will soon disappear.”

“The Chantry locked me in this cage,” the qunari replies. “I am convicted of murder, and that is their sentence. I am surprised the villagers have not told you this.”

Alistair flinches, and even Morrigan raises a brow. Elissa remains unshaken.

“Who _did_ you murder?” Elissa presses.

“Eight humans, including children,” the qunari states. There is no remorse in his voice, as there was none when he was first arrested. “Now I wait here to die, as has been decreed. I should not last much longer.”

“Interesting how he admits guilt so readily,” Morrigan muses.

“Perhaps the actions of one who already felt his life was forfeit,” Elissa murmurs.

The qunari stares at her. It seems she has struck a nerve.

“Who are you?” he asks.

“That’s not important,” Elissa answers. “But tell me something. Despite what you’ve done, do you regret what happened?”

“The deed cannot be undone, and only death can be my atonement,” the qunari says. “I crave death on the battlefield much more, but it is no longer my choice.”

Elissa nods, folding her arms. She is mulling something over.

“Why are you wasting time with him?” Morrigan rolls her eyes. “His fate has been decided, t’is not for us to interfere.”

“So you would leave him to perish from starvation, or let the darkspawn swarm him when he’s defenceless?” Elissa clenches her jaw. “Even a murderer deserves more than that.” She turns to the qunari again. “I won’t come between you and your death-seeking, but if you long for battle so much, maybe I can grant you that.”

The qunari grunts, not convinced.

“Help us against the Blight,” Elissa goes on. “At least then your death might mean something.”

“The Blight?” The qunari scowls. “Then you are a Grey Warden.”

“Does it matter?” Elissa challenges.

The qunari growls to himself. It does not take long before he answers.

“Very well.” He sets his jaw. “Set me free, and I, Sten of the Beresaad, will follow you against the Blight.”

Such insight is reward enough, and I withdraw. My eyes hone on the Chantry, and my steps quicken. This is all the opportunity I require. The Revered Mother is the qunari’s keeper, and she will not be easily coaxed. But I also know what will soften her heart, and given what I have seen, Elissa has little hope of achieving the same.

Nonetheless, I cannot quell the jealous pangs in my chest. Elissa would readily recruit a murderer, yet would hesitate to take a Chantry sister? I shake my head. I do not understand her at all.

Although, a quiet voice reminds, I am not truly guiltless, either. I have committed terrible acts of my own, and deserve to be caged as much as the qunari, should anyone discover the truth. Perhaps that is what Elissa sensed, and that scares me more than anything.

 _No._ I take a deep breath. _I am not the same person. That woman, that…_ life _…it is not me. Not anymore._

It is not a moment too soon that I reach the Lothering Chantry. Despite my urgency, I find myself pausing to admire the bronze stone. I have called this place home for some time, and the fact that I might never see it again starts to sink in. I swallow the quiver in my throat, clenching my fists. It has given more than I could have asked for, yet part of me always realised I would have to move on, one day. Time and faith have let me heal, and now I have found purpose once more, it seems that day has finally come.

_It is the Maker’s will._

I enter, into chaos. The floor is awash with packed bodies, more than had been there yesterday, and my fellow brothers and sisters are caught between them. A breath escapes, and I brush back my hair. It has been like this for days—Lothering can barely house its own, let alone the refugees fleeing the wilds. Perhaps another reason I have been so restless, lately.

The Revered Mother is in the rear chamber, overseeing evacuation plans. I let her be, soon dragged to help with various duties. I can wait; it is not yet my moment to shine. As I take to tending the hearth, my gaze continually drifts to the doors. It will not be long now.

At last, Elissa and Alistair enter, unaccompanied. I smile to myself. It is no shock Morrigan remains absent, given Chantry law about mages. The mabari is also not present. It must be keeping her company.

Elissa does not acknowledge me, but Alistair gives a polite nod as they make their way to the Revered Mother. I murmur an excuse to one of the sisters and abandon my task, hovering close to the doorway.

“Maker’s blessings upon you, children,” the Revered Mother speaks. Elissa and Alistair both bow. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“You are most kind, Revered Mother,” Elissa answers, the change in tone revealing her high-born heritage. “I do not wish to burden you, but I wanted to ask about the qunari you have imprisoned.”

The Revered Mother tenses. A breath escapes her, and she makes to pace the chamber.

“What do you wish to know?” She finds her voice at last. “You are aware of his crime, are you not?”

“He confessed to murder,” Elissa replies.

“It was more than that,” the Revered Mother says. “He slaughtered an entire farmhold, and all after they had tended to his grievous wounds.”

“That’s terrible!” Alistair gasps.

“Oft times I think execution would have been the greatest kindness,” the Revered Mother continues. “Yet I have left his fate to the Maker.”

“I see.” Elissa licks her lips. “But as horrific an act as he’s committed, doesn’t leaving him defenceless to face the darkspawn seem too harsh?”

“He has said enough times that only death will be his atonement,” the Revered Mother answers. “Whether lack of sustenance or the darkspawn take him is irrelevant.”

“He wants to die in battle,” Elissa argues. “You yourself know that Lothering will not remain for much longer. Would it not be fair to allow him to fight, to give your people more chance to escape?”

The Revered Mother’s eyes narrow.

“Why are you so interested in him?” she asks. “He has proven how dangerous he is, and he holds no loyalty to us, that much is clear. He will certainly not fight for our sake, either.” Her fists clench. “I cannot let him go.”

Her tone is curt, final. Further discussion will not be entertained. Elissa, however, oversteps the boundary.

“Leaving him there is as much an act of murder as what he did.” Her voice is blunt. “Even the condemned should be allowed to choose…”

“Enough, child!” The Revered Mother glares, and that is my cue.

Before more words can be exchanged, I enter the chamber. A nervous smile flickers across Alistair’s face, and Elissa catches me from the corner of her eye.

“Please excuse me, your Reverence,” I begin. “Are these two troubling you?”

“Do you know these strangers, Sister Leliana?” the Revered Mother asks.

“Yes, and I humbly ask that you please forgive them.” I fold my hands together. “They are new to Lothering, and have escaped much hardship to get here. I can only imagine how difficult it is for them to see another suffer so.”

I have Elissa’s full attention now, and even she cannot hide the sheer bewilderment in her eyes. Were it not for the circumstances, I might have laughed.

“That might be so, but it is not their place to judge,” the Revered Mother says. “The qunari has been sentenced, and I can do no more. I will not risk further innocents’ lives.”

“I agree, but I feel we should still listen to them,” I answer. “Is it not unusual, that out of all who have passed our village, only this woman found such compassion for one who needs it most? Does Andraste not teach us that all are deserving of the Maker’s forgiveness, even those who sin against His name?” I let my words sink in. “Surely her example should be honoured, especially in such trying times. The qunari may yet prove to do good, under the right guidance, and I think she would be the one to provide it.”

I end with a low bow, knowing I have shattered my target. The exhilaration is almost overwhelming, singing through my blood, and I bite back the smirk that wants to spread. It has been a long time since I have felt so. I had not realised how much I missed it.

The Revered Mother’s gaze softens, and the creases in her brow recede.

“You speak truth, Sister Leliana,” she states. “At times such as these, we should hold such teachings close, as the Maker’s wisdom always prevails.” She faces Elissa. “Very well. I will entrust custody of the qunari to you, child. But should anything further happen, it will be upon your head.”

“I accept full responsibility,” Elissa states. “Thank you.”

The Revered Mother nods. She reaches into her robes, producing a key, and slips it into my hand. “Maker watch over you all.”

Elissa and Alistair bow, before they follow me to the hall. I lead them outside, back into the cool dusk air. We halt under the porch. Elissa finds it hard to look at me, a soft blush creeping over her cheeks.

“You…didn’t have to do that,” she mutters.

“Come now, it was no trouble.” I offer the key, but she does not take it. I raise a brow. “You do not wish to free the qunari anymore?”

Elissa hesitates.

“Of course I do, but…” She swallows, finding the courage to look me in the eye. “Why?”

“Why?” I repeat. “I don’t think it can be explained in words, Elissa. I did this for the same reason you felt compelled to help that qunari.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Elissa answers. “You know who we are, and what lies ahead of us, but you still want to come with us.” She holds the back of her neck. “Why?”

A soft chuckle escapes me.

“I already told you, I know what will come to pass if the Blight is not stopped,” I say. “Terrible darkness will engulf Ferelden, and all the Maker’s creation will thrive no more. I cannot sit by and do nothing.”

“Even when it could cost your life?” Elissa’s gaze is unwavering. “Your future?”

I can only smile. A glimmer of the warmth behind her icy shield has broken through, and suddenly her earlier actions make sense. But my heart has already chosen, and cannot be shaken.

“There is no future so long as the darkspawn remain,” I say. “And I am not afraid to risk myself to darkness.”

Elissa murmurs to herself, considering my response. A long silence passes, until Alistair clears his throat.

“I think you should reconsider her offer, Elissa,” he states. “It’s not going to get any easier for us, and it sounds like she knows what’s at stake.”

Elissa’s shoulders relax, and she meets my eyes again. The chill has thawed somewhat, and she releases a heavy breath. She has made up her mind.

“Alright then.” She extends her hand “If this is really what you want, then…you can come with us, Leliana.”

My smile broadens.

_Maker, thank you._

“Thank you, Elissa.” I take her palm and clasp it firmly. “You will not regret this, I swear.”


	3. Memorial (present)

The sky is grey and overcast, the petrichor sweetly cool from the night’s rainfall. A scent that always used to bring peace, yet now does nothing against the razing bitterness inside. I stand beside Zevran in the palace courtyard, a horrible taste souring my mouth. It has been there since the early hours, since Wynne found me soaked and half-frozen on the balcony. The chill remains upon my skin, an echo to the frosted waste within, and I shiver, wondering if I will ever know warmth again.

Slowly, the surviving people fill the square. Craftsman and merchants, Templars and Chantry sisters, mages and warriors, Dalish and dwarves, the familiar faces we have encountered on our long journey; all stand united before their new King and Queen, a sight unprecedented. And one I do not care for. All I can think about is her absence, and it is a knife in my back, bleeding out my essence drop by drop. Every sense bawls, screaming for what has been lost forever. The heat of her palm in my own, the scent of the raging sea that was undeniably hers, her soft-spoken tones, the unshaken calm of her hazel eyes…memories I can only cling to, as they are all I will ever have.

A whine drifts across the air, and I glance aside. Wynne sits at the edge of the gathering, Duke at her feet. The mabari is licking his lips, his ears set low, nose twitching. Several times he rises, making to bolt off in search, only for Wynne to pull him down. A lump rises in my throat, and no amount of swallowing will make it go away. He seeks the scent of his mistress, and does not understand. His whining grows, and I want to shut my ears. It is like a single note that can shatter glass, and the shards of my heart cry out in answer.

_She is gone, and she is never coming back._

Alistair and Anora head the crowd. They stand together, then make for the empty pyre before them. A broken sword lies atop it; the blade that dealt the final blow to the Archdemon, and all that remains of Elissa’s legacy. It has been but days since the battle ended, and every hand available has searched the rubble around the Fort. Yet while many casualties have been uncovered, Elissa’s body has not been amongst them. None of the fallen warriors sported Grey Warden colours, and even those defaced by the Taint have been identified. Alistair has ordered the searches continue, but for now, the people need reassurance the darkness has passed.

While for me, the darkness has only just begun…

“Citizens of Ferelden, friends, allies and others, we thank you for joining us,” Anora announces. “We give praise to the Maker this day, that He let favour shine down and took us to triumph. Ferelden is at the mercy of the Blight no more.”

“Yet it has come at great cost,” Alistair adds, standing tall. The bags remain under his eyes, his gaze shot with grief. “We have all lost much to the darkspawn, and in the moments of final victory, they also took the one who fought hardest against them.” He swallows, fighting the quiver of his lip. “Elissa Cousland was a courageous woman, who rose from the ashes of betrayal and united our lands as no other could. She gave everything for her country, and for her friends…”

His speech continues, but my attention does not hold. Even the damp breeze becomes nothing, my soul too numb to acknowledge more. I do not feel as if I am here at all, instead caught in some sick, twisted dream. Every part of me aches to open my eyes, to let the illusion fall so I can wake to the sight of her again. So I can caress her face, whisper her name against her lips, take her in my arms and share her gentle warmth.

Tears spill down my cheeks, and a shaking breath escapes. My fingers clench, grasping emptiness, and I want to howl to the heavens once more. To shriek so loudly that the Maker himself must turn to listen. _How could He have let this happen?_ Elissa had _won_ , she had avenged her family and defeated the Archdemon, yet this was how the Maker rewarded her.

My teeth grind, and the crimson hurricane bursts into life yet again.

 _You stole her away_ _from me!_

_After all the faith I placed in You…_

_I will **never** forgive this!_

Before I lose myself, a hand clasps my shoulder. I look up, my vision misted. Zevran’s gaze is soft, devoid of his usual humour, though a hint of it remains.

“Let the winds rage as long as they need,” he murmurs. “You cannot suppress them. But remember, even the most violent storms have to end.”

I can only nod, wiping my eyes. I do not want to think about the future right now. I cannot even think beyond my next breath. I am ensnared to the past, and it will be a long time before those shackles will ever loosen, much less stop cutting welts that will permanently scar.

“She was an example to all Grey Wardens,” Alistair continues, “and alas, was the only remaining Ferelden Warden, besides myself.” He takes a breath, almost hesitant. “The Wardens of our kingdom were fledgling, recovering from their long banishment, and to have them wiped out so soon is too great a blow. Even with the Blight over, the darkspawn remain a threat, and this cannot be overlooked.”

An uneasy murmur runs through the crowd, and I stiffen. Where is this coming from?

He cannot possibly be thinking…

“Therefore,” Alistair declares, “my first decree as King of Ferelden is to abdicate the throne to Queen Anora. She will reign in my stead, and I will return to the Wardens to rebuild.”

His words stir commotion, and Arl Eamon and Bann Teagan step forward. Heated exchanges swiftly follow, but I have heard enough. I withdraw from Zevran, and slip into the throngs. Rancor churns in my stomach, and I bite my lip. How could Alistair do this? Elissa overstretched herself to convince the nobles to accept him as King, and now he would just throw it all away?

My lip curls.

_Does no-one care what she sacrificed herself for?!_

I reach a barren alleyway, and the boiling ocean can be contained no longer. My fist strikes the bricks, scathing skin, and I punch out again and again. My knuckles turn raw, soiled in blood, but such pain is a mockery to the tearing agony between my ribs. She gave up everything, _everything,_ and even her closest friends treat her efforts as if they were _nothing!_

_How can they dare to call themselves…_

“You waste yourself.”

Sten’s harsh voice breaks through, and I glare at him. He stands in the alley, arms folded, his stare icy.

“You knew what was to be risked,” he grunts. “She knew, too. Why do you act like this should not have happened?”

The spark ignites, and I cannot control myself.

“ _It should not have happened!_ ” I screech. “Were you _blind_? Didn’t you _see_ her deal the killing blow? The Archdemon did _not_ best her! She was _cheated_ , she was…she…”

_She was failed in her time of greatest need..._

_Because I could not reach her…_

“She met an honourable death on the battlefield,” Sten retorts. “It is more than most deserve, and she was completely worthy of it. To wail over her valour only spits on her memory.”

“ _Shut up!”_

I bare my teeth, grabbing my dagger. I almost pull the hilt free when fingers snatch my wrist. I glance back. Zevran is behind me, his eyes narrowed.

“Sten, if you could give us a moment,” he says quietly, but there is an edge to his voice.

Sten snorts, but obliges. He returns to the masses, and Zevran releases me. My arms shake, the heat still coursing through my veins. Zevran remains silent, allowing me to breathe.

“I know this hurts,” he begins, “and I will not deign to compare past experiences, nor go back on what I said earlier. But I can guess what lies on your mind right now, and you must know something.” He meets my eyes, and amidst the pain and bitterness there is also defiance. “We _do_ still care for Elissa, and we are not tossing her legacy to the four winds.”

Hot tears sting my eyes, and I choke back a sob. My mind tries to reason, to convince me he speaks the truth, but smothering hate refuses to listen. They do not care, _none of them do_.

_Not like me!_

“Then why?” I whisper. “After all she did…”

“Alistair has his reasons,” Zevran answers, “and none of them are to spite Elissa. Do you not think he hurts as well, losing his Warden sister who stole the blow he himself planned to deliver?”

My eyes flare.

“If he hadn’t _stopped me…_ ”

“…then you would have been killed as well,” Zevran finishes. “It was not your fault, Leliana, nor his. More than anything I curse the Archdemon, and it has received the punishment it deserved.” His tone softens. “There is nothing wrong in what you feel, either. But turning your anger against us will not fill the hole inside. It never does.”

I turn away, unable to stop the stream rolling down my cheeks. He _knows_ , and that hurts as much as everything else. I cradle my face in my palms, my chest tight and heaving. Zevran brings his arm around me, and all I can do is cry against his shoulder. Everything inside is broken, charred and chipped and burnt and bleeding, and there is nothing to pick up the pieces. _No-one_ to pick up the pieces.

_I cannot face this._

Eventually the well empties, and I pull away. Zevran manages a smile, reassuring. I dry my eyes once more, taking several deep breaths. My thoughts remain clouded, and all I can do is rest against the wall.

“Take your time,” Zevran says. “I will be waiting with the others when you feel ready.”

He leaves the alley, and I wrap my arms around myself.

“Feel ready?” I mutter. When will I ever be ‘ready’? This ache is too much, more than I ever thought it would be. I cannot see through the darkness…and I do not know if I ever will.

Something prickles against my chest, and I reach for the silver ring. I clasp it in my palm, hard enough for the engraved stone to leave a mark.

“What am I supposed to do?” I whimper, pressing the ring to my forehead. “My future was supposed to be with _you_ …and now you’ve left…how…how can I…”

My words catch in my throat, and I crumple to the ground, sobbing.


	4. Fear (past)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wondering about Elissa and Leliana’s ‘conversation by the lake’? Check out my fic Challenges to see what transpired.
> 
> Also apologies in advance to Alistair fans, I love him too, but I have to be true to Elissa’s character, so…
> 
> Finally, special thanks to Raven Sinead for her valued input, as always.

 

It is a relief when Elissa finally calls a halt. We have covered a lot of ground, considering the constant darkspawn attacks, and my back and shoulders are more than ready for respite. I cast off my bow and quiver, my aching muscles singing as I collapse against a nearby boulder. My cheeks are flush, and not only from my exertions. Travelling at such pace was once as easy as drawing breath, yet now I can barely keep up. It seems the years in the Chantry have softened my edges, and it will take some time to build my endurance again.

My eyes close for a moment, relishing the stillness. The others set about their routine, and my ears pick up their gestures. Alistair whistles to himself, rustling branches to build a fire, while Sten grunts, emptying his pack. Duke barks, his collar jingling as someone—probably Morrigan—yanks him from the food supplies, and Wynne, our newest companion, lets out a delightful laugh. She has made a fine addition, and her healing prowess has already spared me several injuries. I can only hope that…

A twig snaps, followed by an awkward stumble. Alistair calls out, and my eyes snap open. Elissa is in his arms, her hazel eyes weary, her posture slumped. She looks like she will pass out at any second. Alistair offers to help her sit, but she shakes her head and pushes him away. Alone, she takes her water flask and walks to the tree-lined stream at the edge of camp. Every step is weighed with exhaustion, and I bow my head, ashamed at my own ‘fatigue’. She had been on watch the night before, and fought more than her fair share of darkspawn throughout the day. She has been pushing herself too far, yet as usual would prefer to keep her troubles to herself.

My brow creases. I had thought after our conversation by the lake, she would have started to open up a little, but it seems she remains reluctant to lower her shields.

If only there were some way I could reach her…

“Care to pull your own weight this eve, O Exalted Sister? Or do you plan to let your servants do your bidding?”

Morrigan’s disdainful voice carries through the air, and I frown.

“I did not ask anyone to tend my needs,” I answer, rising to my feet. “But since taking a moment of rest seems to displease you, I will try not to offend further.”

Morrigan scoffs, retreating to her own encampment. My fist clenches, but I let the anger ebb away. She has proven…challenging to work with, for certain. I still cannot understand why Elissa shows her such respect, alas there is much our Warden keeps concealed. What I do know, however, is that Elissa’s judgements have always seemed fair, so I expect this to be no different. Even if I do not see it myself.

I reclaim my weapons, stepping towards the fire. Alistair has done a sound job, and I sit beside him, helping stoke the flames. He nods, making for the food stock, and I rest back on my hands. The flickering warmth is soothing, and my eyes fall to the horizon. The skies are clear, and the distant tower of Kinloch Hold stands out beneath the newly risen moon. It sends a shiver through me, and I glance aside, the blood-stained walls and scent of burnt magic still too fresh.

My fingers claw at the dirt, and I swallow the horror away before it takes hold. It is a gesture I perform with practiced ease, although it was not long ago such panic would infect my entire being. When I had newly entered Lothering, my mind trapped, my heart shattered, and with only a whisper of faith to fight the choke-hold of the past that never wanted to let go.

A breath escapes me, and I return my attention to the flames. They flicker and crackle, clinging to life by the barest of means. And so had it been the same with me. It took many quiet hours in the cloisters to master my terror, yet by the grace of the Maker, I finally ventured beyond its reach. Now it cannot harm me, and never will I let anything else strike so deeply again.

 _I suppose that is the only thing I will ever thank_ **her** _for…_

A wet snout brushes my leg, and I blink. Duke whines, sniffing around my pouches. I chuckle, fishing for the meat strips that he knows I carry. I offer one to him, and he slobbers my palm, his tail wagging. A wry smile creases my lips, and I scratch him between his ears. Even my Orlesian heritage cannot eclipse my Ferelden blood. Mabaris are wondrous animals, and despite their savagery in combat, they have truly gentle souls. Duke is no exception, and I have come to admire his ever curious and loyal personality.

Much like his mistress…

I scan the camp again, finding Elissa nearby. She sits on her bedroll, Wynne beside her. The mage checks her over, finding but a few scrapes to heal. She attempts to make conversation, to which Elissa merely nods and murmurs. Finally Wynne gives her a tonic, then retreats to her tent.

Elissa sighs. She absently plays with the vial between her fingers, lifting her eyes to the Circle tower. The weariness in her gaze deepens, and a tug pulls at my heart. It takes no fortune-teller to know what is on her mind. Those battles wore thin on all of us, and it was Elissa who had been thrown into the worst of it. Maker knew what Fade nightmares she faced to set us free, and then to have to continue and fight Uldred without pause…I shake my head. It is a wonder she had not collapsed sooner.

My legs twitch, wanting to stride over and offer a patient ear, but I resist the urge. Elissa has already brushed off such concerns, and I have not the skill to coax them out. Not yet, at least. Alas, it still leaves me tense. There is only so much one can keep inside, and though for Elissa it is a well-honed art, even she might come to break beneath the strain…

“Hey, Leliana, can you do me a favour?”

Alistair’s voice snaps me back, and I turn to him. He has already set up the dinner pot, and he gestures to the rabbit meat we purchased earlier.

“Mind looking after the stew tonight?” He rubs the back of his neck. “There’s…I’ve got something to take care of. You don’t mind?”

“Of course not,” I answer, though I cannot stop my brow rising. It is unusual he would shy from meal duty, but a blush colours his cheeks, and his smile is nervous, less confident. Whatever he is planning, it has taken him a while to find the courage to go through with it.

“Thanks.” He shuffles to his feet, stealing a wayward glance at Elissa. Suddenly all becomes clear, and I blink. I should be amused—endeared, really—but I cannot help the sudden foreboding in my chest. Elissa did not respond well the last time we attempted to cheer her, and I am certain Alistair’s ploy will more than likely go the same way.

Yet I do not reach to stop him as he crosses the fireside to join her. In truth, it is not my place, and I have all reason to be wrong, too. He has known Elissa longer, and they have shared more hardship together, too. And Elissa does treat him fondly, when she is able to rise above overshadowing despair. As much as it hurts my pride, if anyone could brighten her spirits, it would be him.

But I wonder…

“Do you need help, Leliana?” Wynne’s hand comes to my shoulder. “It cannot be much fun being left to the menial tasks.”

I smile. She is so very motherly, and reminds me a little of Lady Cecilie, Maker bless her soul.

“That’s very kind, Wynne, but I will be fine.” I shift aside to let her sit. “It is not often Alistair leaves me to my own devices for cooking. I intend to take advantage.”

Wynne laughs. “I would not be in disagreement to something slightly more flavourful, either.” A spark catches her eye, and she sits straighter. “Oh, how forgetful of me. I have some herbs in my belongings, I meant to bring them along. Give me a moment.”

She makes to stand, but I shake my head.

“Please, allow me. It has been a long day for you, too. Where might I find them?”

“There is a leather pouch beside my pack in my tent,” Wynne informs. “You will probably smell them before you see them, they should not be difficult to find. And thank you.”

Nodding, I leave the fire, heading for her makeshift quarters. Not quite deliberately, my steps take a longer path, bringing me closer to Elissa and Alistair. They have moved further downstream, shielded by drooping woodland branches. Still, their voices carry clear, and my curiosity overwhelms me. Carefully I slip closer, hidden between the trees, and my eyes widen.

Alistair is carrying a rose, but it is not just any flower. It is the crimson bloom that flourished on that dead shrub in the Lothering Chantry. I would recognise it anywhere. Part of me snarls that he had carelessly plucked it, but I swiftly quash the bitterness. It is not as if I claim ownership of it, and besides, it would have perished with the rest of the village once the darkspawn took over.

Even so…

“I hope this isn’t too sudden.” Alistair coughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “But things have been more dangerous recently, I don’t know if I’ll get a chance like this again.” He clears his throat, and twirls the rose between his thumb and index finger. “I found this in Lothering. It just…well, it stirred something. Made me wonder how something so beautiful could still flourish in so much darkness, you know?” He takes a breath, and offers it to Elissa. “Reminded me a lot of you, actually. So…I thought it might be nice to give to you. Just to show…how much I appreciate all you’ve done. And what you mean to me.”

Elissa remains silent. She is staring at the rose, but her reaction is anything what I expect. Her eyes widen, her jaw clenches, and a tremor ripples through her. She licks her lips, drawing her arms around herself, and shifts her weight to her back foot. My brows rise. This is not just mere embarrassment.

She’s _scared_.

Alistair, however, remains oblivious. He leans a little closer, and Elissa holds herself rigid. It is almost painful to watch. Every part of her wants to _run_ , but decorum is just enough to keep her in place. Maker, I have never seen anyone look so uncomfortable.

_But why, Elissa?_

“Lost for words, huh?” Alistair asks, tilting his head.

Elissa sighs, forcing herself to meet his gaze.

“Alistair.” Her voice is slightly hoarse, and she swallows. “I’m…look, I’m really flattered you’d…it’s a very kind gesture…but…I…”

She hesitates, and Alistair’s face falls.

“Oh.” He draws the rose to his chest, as the penny finally drops. “It wasn’t…it doesn’t have to mean anything like that.” His eyes betray his words, however, and they overflow with hurt. It is not lost on Elissa, and she bites back a wince. “You’ve been suffering the worst of it lately, I just wanted to try and ease that.”

“I…I know.” A short struggle plays within, and her shoulders sag. “I…thank you, Alistair. I appreciate you thinking of me.”

Alistair’s face brightens, and he hands over the rose. Elissa takes it, but it does little to change her stance. She is doing this out of courtesy, not want.

“You deserve so much more than this,” Alistair murmurs. “I hope it’ll do for now, until I find something more worthy of your attention.”

There is a suggestiveness to his tone, and Elissa bristles.

“There’s no need.” Her soft-spoken voice carries a new edge. “Not now, not ever.”

She mutters the latter, but not quietly enough. A scowl crosses Alistair’s features.

“Ouch.” He averts his gaze, and starts to fiddle with his gauntlet. “You don’t have to be so blunt, you know.”

Elissa’s fist clenches, and she looks away. I cannot tell if I am imagining the glisten on her cheek.

“…then I’m sorry I can’t be what you want.”

Before further words can spill, she turns and walks away. Alistair remains frozen, the breeze teasing his hair. Slowly, he wakes from the shock of stupor, and lets out a long, long sigh. Rubbing his chest, he makes back towards camp, and I edge aside so he does not catch me. My heart fills with pity, and I shake my head. Such pain will sting for some time, and I can only imagine what this will do to their bond in the coming days.

But more than that, I cannot fathom why Elissa reacted so. There was nothing threatening about Alistair’s gesture, and not a few hours earlier she had been laughing at his playful snipes. Much as she loved her frosted walls, there had always been warmth between them, and had I not seen it with my own eyes, I would never have believed she would show such coldness to him.

_And just when I thought I was starting to understand her better…_

Suddenly a shaking gasp catches my ear, and I glance back to the trees. Only the shadows greet me, and my pulse skips a beat. Surely Elissa could not have wandered so far so quickly. Then it comes again, and my breath catches. What if she’s hurt, or fainted again?

I break into a jog, scanning the branches. Thankfully it is not long before I spot her, and my chest floods with relief. Elissa is curled beneath a barren trunk, but even so, she is not in a good way. Her head rests in her arms, her body trembling. Every breath is ragged and choked, as if she cannot get enough air in. Immediately my gaze softens, and I rush to her side.

“Elissa!” I grasp her shoulder, and she tenses further. “It’s only me.”

Elissa cannot speak, too flustered by her breathing. I drop to my knees, stroking her arm.

“Slowly, slowly,” I soothe. “Let the air release, then inhale…”

It takes a few moments, but Elissa starts to follow my instruction. She forces herself to breathe out, and I count with her, gradually calming her frantic gasps, as the Revered Mother did for me when I had been in similar throes. It is ironic I am in her place, when at the time I never would have thought such a thing possible.

Eventually Elissa regains herself. She tilts her head back, no longer suffocating, and presses a hand to her chest.

“Sorry.” She continues to gaze skywards, unwilling—or perhaps unable—to meet my eyes. “You shouldn't...shouldn't have had to see that."

My face tightens, recalling her fearful stance, every muscle held tight as though Alistair had approached her with a blade. Rarely have I seen her reveal her emotions, but even she cannot conceal everything. Perhaps she did not believe any part of her could betray such.

“It is of no consequence to me.” I answer. “I’m sorry to have intruded. But I shall not breathe a word to anyone. Of that I promise.”

Elissa holds her temple, deliberating, the soft trickle of the stream the only disturbance.

“It was nothing to get so worked up over, anyway,” she mutters at last.

Her response brings no surprise. Of course she would not want to discuss this further. But something in her eyes gives a little, and it emboldens me.

“Forgive me, Elissa, but I must speak the truth. I saw everything that transpired between you and Alistair.” I pause, studying her reaction. “When he offered that rose, you looked like you were about to bolt. I have never seen you so frightened.”

Her eyes narrow, and she angles herself away, arms still crossed. However, she makes no move to chide me for eavesdropping.

“I didn’t want to hurt him. I had no choice,” she states. “Let's return to camp and be done with it.”

She rises and I stagger to my feet, quick to block her.

“Elissa, there is no shame in being afraid.” My voice is gentle. “But there is also no shame in allowing others to care about you, to lend you their strength. You do yourself no favours by bottling everything inside.”

My words are not my own—a borrowed wisdom—yet the truth of it holds a worth that cannot be measured. It was not easy to adopt, and I prolonged my suffering because of it. I can only pray Elissa will not make the same choice, and be spared my folly.

“Did Alistair's gesture truly hurt that much?”

Elissa flinches, but says nothing. Instead her eyes become downcast, and she bows her head, her raven hair streaming across her chest.

“And if it did?”

I sigh, her response an echo of that night beside the lake.

“Then my concern remains.” I stand tall, facing her directly. “Those wounds will not heal so long as the weight of your burdens smothers them. I can take some of them for you, were you to let me.”

Elissa’s fist clenches.

“Sharing what dwells inside does nothing to resolve it.” Her tone is bitter. “It only drags past into present, leaving a mire that traps more than it needs to. These burdens, these feelings, they’re _mine_ , and they’re nobody’s business but my own. I don’t need to share them. Not to Alistair, not to _anyone_.” The last word is a stone, flung with force to scathe.

“So you would go as far as to deny them entirely?” I ask.

Elissa snaps her head up, her hazel eyes burning.

“They are nothing but a useless distraction!” she growls. “I've been through enough of that agony, and I don't care! He wants more than I can give and I _won’t_!" She draws another breath. It hitches in her lungs, her resolve less certain. “There's...There's too much at stake, and I'm barely keeping it together as it is. I just...I just can't.” She shakes her head. “If I am to carry the kingdom against the Blight, I can't afford to _feel_. I’m not strong enough.”

Her voice is quivering, and I lick my lips. She is not entirely convinced by her own words.

Perhaps…

“That is not what I am asking, Elissa,” I answer. “But can you not see already how speaking your mind has allowed your shoulders to ease, your breaths calm, your jaw relax? Would you deny that you do not feel better for sharing these grievances with me?”

Elissa’s eyes widen slightly, and she purses her lips.

“Your feelings are not something to be afraid of,” I continue. “They are the Maker’s greatest gift, and they will lend you the strength you think you lack. No matter what pain might come with them. You have to believe me.”

Elissa turns her back to me. I remain in place, waiting. It is up to her, now. I can do no more.

“I can't...I just can't.” She speaks barely above a whisper. “It still hurts too much.”

“Acknowledging your pain does not make you weak, Elissa,” I assure. “Quite the opposite, in fact. You are stronger for it. Strong enough to have brought us this far. Strong enough to take us further. I have faith in you."

“Even after what I just did?”

“Yes.”

A lingering quiet descends, as my words slowly sink in. Eventually Elissa raises her head, and our eyes meet once more. Something in her gaze has changed, however.

“I can only hope you’re right.” A heavy breath escapes. “Thank you, Leliana. And I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” I console. “I am here for you, always, should you need me.”

Elissa manages a nod. “Yes.” I sense more words on her lips, but she hesitates, deciding to let them fall. “We…We should return, before we are missed.”

She sets off, and I follow. But the silence no longer feels awkward, and the tiniest of smiles flickers across my lips. It might have only been a single step, but I had convinced Elissa to consider another path.

And if it would spare her the pain she so feared, then everything that had brought me to this moment would have been worth it.


End file.
